The Things We Say
by Alseides
Summary: Or, just how did the Marauders lose their Map and the Invisibility Cloak? From Lupin's viewpoint.


The Things We Say - A Marauders tale  
  
Or, just how did the Marauders lose their Map and the Invisibility Cloak?  
  
by Alseides  
  
It was late on a rainy day in the middle of March. The sun was setting somewhere behind a cloud, not that Lupin was looking skyward. His head was bent over a book.  
  
James and Sirius had the Marauders' Map and were off sneaking into Filch's office for some lost toys. Good for them. He was tired of it just then. The constant rain had everyone was on edge. And the past few days, Lily seemed to be hanging around a lot. How perfectly weird of her. He suspected her disapproval of James was transforming into something decidedly mushier. Women were unfathomable sometimes.  
  
He stared out the window. Arithmancy was very dull today. Any sort of fortune you liked could be had from messing about with the letters of your name. They were all sufficiently vague that they applied to anyone's life. He blinked dry eyes and thought of hot cocoa. But supper in the Great Hall would be another hour. Remus sighed and glanced down at the page. It was filled with Pratorius' rhetorical rant on the spectrum of the numerical vibrations of life cycles. Somehow this was supposed to be important to a teenage werewolf wizard. Somehow it wasn't.  
  
He got up, stretched, slapped the book shut, and headed out of the Library. Maybe Peter would be in the common room and they could rustle up some cocoa together.  
  
He found the common room a dull, grey smear of students nodding off into their books. Pettigrew lay curled up on a rug by the hearth, chest rising and falling evenly. He'd not wake him, then. Lupin slumped into an overstuffed armchair, tucking his feet underneath him. What a waste of a Saturday.  
  
He'd nearly dozed off when Sirius and James burst through the door, steaming mad. "Lupin!" cried James when he spotted him. "You're not going to believe this." Heads turned. Remus managed an "Oh?" before Sirius strode up the stairs. Peter stirred on the hearth. Lupin slid ungracefully to his feet and followed them up to their room, Peter close on his heels.  
  
Sirius threw himself on his bed. He didn't say anything, but Lupin could tell he was furious about something. James sank more slowly to sit on his bed, staring reproachfully at Peter and Remus. Peter sputtered, "What happened? Come on, boys, you can't leave us hanging . . ."  
  
"You're not going to believe this," Black ground out. Potter moaned and put his face in his hands.  
  
Lupin tapped a foot impatiently. "What, Snape kissed your mother, Black? Gryffindor's colors are now purple and yellow polka dot? They made all the water fountains run hot cocoa? They-"  
  
"No, you git," James cut him off. "He took the map. He has the MAP!" James yelled through his hands.  
  
A cold lump suddenly found its way into Remus' throat. There was only one map they could be referring to. "Who," he meant to say, but whispered instead.  
  
Sirius heard him anyway. "Filch," he replied, his tone careless and offhand as though the worst had not just happened. "Argus I-can't-cast-a- spell-to-save-my-life Filch."  
  
"Don't be mean," Lupin said absently. They were doomed.  
  
"Filch has the map?" interjected Peter. "We might as well say goodbye to Hogwarts. We're doomed."  
  
"Now, hang on a minute," James said. He seemed to have recovered a bit now that others were fully aware of the catastrophe. "We're not doomed, Peter, don't be stupid. He doesn't know how to activate the map. Being Filch, he's not liable to guess, either. And even if he does, well, it only reveals where people are - people that you're looking for."  
  
"Right, so, how are we supposed to do, well, ANYTHING, if he can find us now? Or don't you think he'll ever be looking for us?" Peter's lower lip had begun to tremble. Lupin supposed it was his way of looking small and harmless. It just made Remus think of prey.  
  
"You're not listening," James cried.  
  
"Shut up, both of you," said Sirius. "You're not helping. Clearly, we just need to get it back."  
  
Lupin spoke into the sudden silence. "But the damage is already done. He knows it exists. Trying to get it back will only make things worse for us."  
  
"You always think in such negative terms?" sneered Sirius. Lupin bristled. Black continued, "Maybe you should be the one to get it. You'll think of all the things that could go wrong and plan for them, right?"  
  
"Hey, now, wait a minute," Remus objected.  
  
James laughed. "I like it. Oh come on, Lupin, it'll be fun. You haven't been out lurking lately."  
  
Lupin bit his lip. He didn't lose the damn map in the first place, why should he have to get it back? It would be fun? Mucking about in Filch's office wasn't fun, it was hazardous. The damn cat, if nothing else. And knowing Filch, he'd have the map tucked away in the "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous" drawer. Tamper evident locks and all that. He'd have to work up another tamper evident lock spell just to hide his snooping. Dammit, he was already planning it out. Lupin sighed. "Fine. But I get the Cloak."  
  
James was generous. "Of course."  
  
Suddenly the rain didn't seem so sleepy.  
  
***  
  
He got in to the caretaker's office all right, using the cloak. He simply slipped in while Filch was out on midnight corridor patrol, using a few illicit door-opening spells and a handy noise-eater ointment. The wretched damp air held the taint of sewers down here. A torch guttered inside the office. Pipes hidden somewhere in the mess of papers and confiscated objects must have been venting to the outside. Lupin swore under his breath as he eased the door shut behind him, wand gripped tight in the hand that held the cloak over his body. The place was a rat's nest. How was he going to find one map in all the papers that lay scattered everywhere?  
  
He spied a model sailboat in one corner which had once belonged to Frank Longbottom. Its peanut powered sails would probably never see the light of Hogwarts halls again. He spared a moment of silence for the boat's sad fate. It was too big to take with him.  
  
The most likely spot for the map seemed to be the desk. Remus laid the heavy Invisibility cloak across the back of the chair and started in, careful to not misplace the various confiscated notes and invitations and spitballs (spitballs?! Couldn't he just throw them away?). He wrinkled his nose and noticed with a start that his hands were shaking. Lupin told himself to calm down. For an awful moment, memories of thrashing in darkness overwhelmed him and his heart raced.  
  
But the moon was nowhere near full and he was being an idiot and wasting what little time he had. Lupin moved a stack of books labeled Dirty Tricks for the Aspiring Card Dealer and uncovered a pile of dead piskies. Their little blue faces were mushed together as they lay in what might have been sleep, if Cornish piskies slept. He moved on.  
  
A search of the entire desk top proved fruitless. He hesitantly jiggled the handle of a drawer, and found it locked. And then the door to the office opened and Lupin's heart dropped to his shoes.  
  
Filch stood framed in the doorway, the light from the hall streaming in around him. Remus couldn't make out his face. His hand was still on the drawer handle. He let it fall to his side, words frozen in his throat.  
  
"And what's this, then?" Argus Filch said in an evil tone, a knowing tone. "Caught you red-handed, have we? Thought you'd pilfer some toys from the toybox, hm, Mr. Lupin?"  
  
Lupin's mouth opened and closed several times. He didn't dare reach for the cloak. It was much too late for that. His wand was stuck in a back pocket. Anyway, using a spell now would get him expelled. Desperately he tried to think of a memory charm. But that would make things even worse if it ever got out. Bloody hell.  
  
Filch watched him flop around uselessly for another moment, then cut in, slamming the door shut behind him. Mrs. Norris wailed in the hall outside. "You're in a lot of trouble, boy," he purred. "I suppose the Headmaster will be listening to me now! Sneaked about a few too many times with your little friends! Lost your precious toy! And I suppose that's what you came for, isn't it? Your little -" He paused.  
  
Lupin's lips formed the word involuntarily. Map.  
  
Filch cackled. "Oh, you're as good as gone now. Had fun at Hogwarts, I hope?"  
  
Lupin was shaking with rage. "You bastard. You knew one of us would come looking for it."  
  
Filch smiled and leaned against a hat rack. It rocked a bit. "I don't need your fancy spells to read minds, after all, eh, boy?"  
  
"Oh, that's right, no wonder you hate us so much. You're jealous. How's it feel to be a cripple?" The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think. Remus watched as Filch's face turned ashen.  
  
Filch took a step toward the desk. "You little wanker. How dare you. How dare you." His voice quivered.  
  
Lupin felt sick to his stomach. There were times when he hated being a werewolf, but at least he had magic. Not having magic - he didn't want to think about it. And he'd just thrown it in Filch's face. Brilliant. "Look, I didn't mean-"  
  
"I know what you meant. You meant what you said." Filch's words were muffled.  
  
Lupin felt a rising panic. He clutched at the desk. "Look-"  
  
"Get out of my office!" roared the caretaker. He flung open the door and gestured violently in the general direction of the hall. "Get out, you mangy student! Get the hell out of my office!"  
  
Lupin ran for the door. It slammed shut behind him. He could hear Filch raging. Lupin kept running. He ran until he hit the classrooms corridor. It was deserted, thankfully. Remus stopped to breathe a bit. Filch could eat toads for all he cared now. No, he was being an idiot. What was he going to do?  
  
He absently pulled his wand out of his back pocket as he struggled to get his breathing back under control. The wooden handle was terribly worn. He'd Spellotaped it innumerable times. There was something caught round the tape now - he pulled at it, and came away with a strand of invisible thread. It shimmered into silvery life once it was no longer wrapped around his wand.  
  
He stared at the thread from the Invisibility Cloak, trying not to cry. He'd left James' cloak in Filch's office.  
  
***  
  
After a suitable moment of silence for his own sorry life, Lupin dragged himself back to Filch's office. He'd thought seriously about going and getting James and Sirius for help, but then he'd have to explain losing the cloak, and he didn't think he could face James. He thought even more seriously about fleeing the school entirely, but he wasn't ready to face life as a young werewolf in England just yet. So back it was.  
  
Dim light flickered under the door of the office. Mrs. Norris was nowhere to be found. Possibly Mr. Filch had let her in. The scent of rain drifted toward Lupin. Right. Now or never. Who cared if he didn't have a plan? He laid a hand on the doorknob. He was stalling. In a minute he'd lose his nerve. Grimly, he pushed the door open.  
  
Filch was sitting at his desk, his head down in his hands. He jerked upright as the door swung open. Remus got a glimpse of tears before rage covered Filch's face. The caretaker shoved himself to his feet. "What are you doing here?" he growled.  
  
Remus quailed. "I've come to ask for the map," he said in a tone much less firm than the one he'd practiced in his head. All he really wanted at this point was to grab the cloak, but a distraction seemed to be in order.  
  
Filch sputtered. "And what in the name of good wizards everywhere gives you the idea that I'd ever give that to you?" He closed a threatening hand around a black whip that lay on the desk. Lupin hadn't seen it before, and really wished he wasn't seeing it now.  
  
"Sir, you can't use that on a student!" he cried.  
  
He watched as a sneer slid up Filch's face. "Oh," Filch said casually, sweetly, "watch me. Give me one reason, o perfect little boy with a perfect little magical life. One reason not to scar your perfect pretty face. Oh, I suppose I should strike someplace where it wouldn't show. Maybe I should just break your wand?"  
  
Lupin swallowed. He was speaking before he realized it. "Nothing you could do would be worse than what's already happened to me. Break my wand; fine. Cut me up; fine. You can't take away my magic. I haven't any pride to lose."  
  
"What are you blathering about?" Filch's grip on the whip relaxed as he frowned at Lupin.  
  
Remus was terribly calm. "I'm a werewolf. I have been since I was little. You think it's hard having people know you can't do magic? How about if people thought you couldn't control homicidal rages - and how about if they were right?" He was too loud. Someone would hear them. "So you hate me for what I can do. So your life's unpleasant. So's mine! I have to lie to people who trust me! People who care about me. And everyone else, too. If the truth gets out, well, they wouldn't pity-hire me for caretaker, they'd ship me to Patagonia. Oh, wait. I suppose people live there, too. All right, some place uninhabited by humans. Someplace I couldn't hurt anyone! And maybe they'd be right to!" He was short of breath from anger and shouting. Damn it, he was NOT going to shapeshift.  
  
Filch stood stock still behind the desk. "You've handed me your life, boy," he said slowly.  
  
Lupin swallowed and looked at his feet. "I know," he rasped. He was beyond caring. Awkwardly he sat down on the chilly stone flagstones of the floor. His wand stuck out of his pocket at an uncomfortable angle until he pulled it out. There was a silence.  
  
Filch cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I ought to tell the headmaster about you, boy."  
  
"He already knows." Even to himself, Lupin's voice sounded dead.  
  
The sound of rain came strongly then, tinny, echoing through hidden pipes. Lupin was silent. He couldn't figure out anything to say. Apparently, neither could Filch. Remus didn't look up toward the desk.  
  
Finally, Filch cleared his throat again. "You can't have the damn map. What would happen to my reputation if word got out I gave things back? Eh? Don't be a fool, boy."  
  
Lupin bit back his words. He just wanted the cloak. Filch had to have noticed it. He'd been practically sitting on it.  
  
"Out," Filch ordered him wearily, sitting back down at his desk. Lupin could practically hear the rustle of the cloak.  
  
"Sir," he began, ever the bold and foolish Gryffindor.  
  
"Out." A hard note crept into Filch's voice. "Now. Count yourself lucky the lower dungeons aren't still being used for their proper purpose." He grinned evilly. "Or I'd put some sense back in those bones of yours."  
  
"But the Map-"  
  
"Forget the Map! Or is it worth getting expelled over? Hmm? What's it do, then, that it's so precious to you?"  
  
Lupin backpedaled furiously. "It's a family heirloom, sir. Um, James' family. It really means a lot to him. Them. Sir."  
  
Filch scowled. "Sure it is. Just wait, I'll catch on and then you boys won't be laughing." He stood again and paced the room, wheeling very slowly between strides. Lupin watched, no trace of laughter on his face, or in his heart, for that matter. He too stood, stretching as if to ease sore muscles, and mentally gauged the distance to the chair and James' cloak. Filch turned away on another rotation. Now or never. Lupin lunged.  
  
His hands closed on silken velvet. Filch lurched around, shrieking bloody murder at him. Lupin ran for the door, cloak in hand. He didn't dare put it on. He didn't stop to see if Filch was following him. He ran as if a dementor chased him.  
  
Down the hall past the classrooms and into the Great Hall and to the stairs, and he missed the kitchen stairs and ran past the marble stairs going up and found himself instead dashing madly down the steps to the dungeons and the Slytherin common room.  
  
He ducked through the first door he found, yanking the cloak over his shoulders, and slammed it shut behind him. Dear God, he was in a broom closet. The rank smells of old soap and dead things met his nose. It was pitch black, of course. No, it couldn't be a broom closet. He pushed his way through mops and cleaning buckets to find another hallway. It was tremendously narrow, lighted by ever-burning flashballs, and paneled in dark wood. Something slimy had been dragged along the middle of the floor. Remus hoped he was looking at a mop trail.  
  
And where was Filch now? He could have used the damn map, but it was probably lost for good now. The caretaker would be even more cautious than before. He admitted to himself that his plan had been pretty thin. It'd be nice to have Sirius and James put in an idea or two. But first he had to get back to the Gryffindor common room.  
  
He continued along the corridor a bit, ears straining for danger. This was Slytherin territory, after all. What in the name of the seven mad gods had he been thinking, telling Filch he was a werewolf? He cursed. Strange, cloying scents drifted in the passage. He began to long for the earthy smell of rain and mildew. Something was giving him a very bad feeling.  
  
Around a corner, then, and he came to an abrupt halt in front of a door at the dead end of the hall. The slime appeared to be coming from under the door, a thin, iridescent grease like oil. Oil did not smell like this. Lupin took a step backward. There were no sounds coming from the other side. He took another step backward, careful to avoid the muck. Then his nerve broke, and he ran back the way he'd come.  
  
He felt silly when he hit the mops, because the Invisibility Cloak was flapping around his legs, doing a terrible job of keeping him hidden. It worked much better when he moved slowly toward danger than when he turned tail and ran. But whatever was behind that door was more than he wanted to deal with that night. Not when he'd just suffered a defeat. Not when he still had to tell James and Sirius. He was making excuses. Sod it.  
  
Cautiously he made his way up to the Gryffindor common room. He didn't run into Filch or his cat, not that Filch could have seen him in the cloak. The password, "Applethumbs", and in he stepped. The fire had burned very low since he'd left. The windows were dark with rain, the moon having set already. He had a few days yet before he'd need to chain up again. Everyone had gone to bed. Lupin draped the cloak over an arm and trudged up to his room.  
  
The still forms of his friends in their beds cautioned him to move quietly, but of course, Sirius' sixth sense for adventure woke him. Black sat up and demanded in a harsh whisper to know what had happened.  
  
Lupin glared at him in the darkness. "A lot. Nothing. You steal the damn map back." He tossed the cloak onto the sleeping James and was rewarded with a startled grunt.  
  
"It didn't work, then?" Wormtail was awake, too.  
  
Lupin stifled a groan. If he had to explain everything right then, he'd never get any sleep at all. Grimly he ignored their questions and threw himself into bed, yanking the covers over his head. And that was all they got out of him.  
  
***  
  
He told them the next morning. And after the initial yelling and hitting they agreed that yes, it was probably best he'd cut his losses and come back with the cloak. It was a very subdued Sunday.  
  
Lupin went down to get some cocoa around midmorning. On the way back from the kitchens, he saw Mr. Filch in the corridor. They passed each other with civil nods and no words. But as Lupin climbed the stairs of Gryffindor Tower, he wondered if he hadn't seen a smile on Filch's face.  
  
Filch never told anyone Lupin's secret.  
  
***  
  
The end. 


End file.
